The Night Awaits the Dawn
Some boys with cheek play hide and seek within a house condemned
their faces gaunt reflecting want that’s hard to comprehend.
With veiled excuse an old recluse is waiting to descend.
His eye despairs above the stairs, he’s never had a friend
to talk about his hidden doubt of how his world will end -
to die unknown, forlorn, alone? No use a farewell penned!
And soon the boys chase phantom joys then, presto when they’ve gone,
the old recluse, with nimble noose and facial features wan,
no longer waits upon the Fates but yawns his final yawn
(like Tinker Bell, he spins a spell, though fairy dust's withdrawn).
With twisted brow, he’s tranquil now, he’s floating like a swan
and as he fades from life’s charades, the night awaits the dawn.
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012
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